For The First Time
by ripsofftricks
Summary: And Arthur does the only thing he could do at the moment. He prays. Despite everything, he can't stop hoping, won't stop hoping and just prays for a miracle. It couldn't end like this, not when the both of them had tried so hard... Not now.


**This took quite long to make it's way up here, mostly because I didn't think that it was good enough. I'm still not satisfied with it but I don't really know how to make it any better so... The plot bunny attacked me at night at 1 am in the morning. I wrote about half of it in that one sitting when I gave up on trying to sleep and just moved to my living room and typed.**

**Most of the original material has been edited, re-edited or deleted and then... this. Story first inspired by For The First Time by The Script, when I was making final changes and additions, Boats and Birds by Gregory and the Hawk. The first draft was beta-ed by **_anglophilic_** but later on, I just checked through the whole thing myself.**

**I hope it isn't too long-winded and I tried to not make it too boring.  
**

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_The rain fell heavily, splashing on the streets. The puddles that were appearing on the pavement resembled less like splotches of water and more of dirty wet mines created to make Alfred feel worse. Rivers of water streamed past his feet as he tried to huddle further into the small shelter outside a closed shop, clothes already soaked through and clinging to his skin uncomfortably. _

_The only person suffering alongside him was a grumbling man spouting curses at the atrocious weather under his breath. The both of them stranded in the downpour with vision limited to a few yards what with the sheets of rain pummelling down._

_Deciding to be friendly and having nothing to do, Alfred pulled his hand out of his pocket and held it out. _

"_Alfred Jones. It's nice to meet you."_

_The shorter man's eyes flicked to his hand and lingered for a few seconds, before looking up at him, irritated scowl on his face. _

"_Whatever."_

_1. If you'll be my star, I'll be your sky; you can hide underneath me and come out at night. _

Alfred shut the door with practiced precision, closing it with a soft click and nothing more, not having the heart to wake his sleeping lover. Arthur was sitting at the table with his head drooping, reading glasses that had slid down the slope of his nose in the wake of his exhaustion. His hand was clutching an all too familiar white piece of paper, crumpled slightly in his fingers.

The whole table was covered with torn envelopes and neatly folded letters, illuminated only by a battery operated lamp. There were strips of shredded paper where Arthur must have ripped them apart in his desperation. Each letter might have contained different words, but the message was the same, as it always was.

_Your bills are overdue. Pay them before we are forced to take action._

Alfred went to the bedroom to get a blanket and draped it across Arthur's back, tucking it completely around the man and also the chair. The heating was faulty and it was one of those long chilly nights. The blanket would keep Arthur warm and Alfred would take the trouble of ensuring that, even if he couldn't do much else. He didn't really do much these days.

Wiping the wet tear-tracks off Arthur's sleeping face, Alfred sighed, setting the keys to his cab down on the table, eyeing the paper that Arthur was adamantly hanging on to, even in his sleep.

Alfred tugged it out of Arthur's fingers gently, hoping to heaven that the Briton would not rouse. Sitting down across the table, Alfred leaned in close to the lamp's dim light and began reading what Arthur had been doing before he succumbed to slumber.

Scanning over the paper, Alfred's eyes skipped over the computer-generated words quickly and fluently. There didn't seem to be anything different between this bill and the rest splayed across the table, and yet…

Catching an obnoxiously small scribble written in pen at the very corner of the page, Alfred twisted the piece of paper around, squinting at the words that Arthur had so badly wanted to hide but couldn't resist writing down.

His heart plummeted at the elegant script looping the words together in black ink.

'I don't think I can do this anymore.'

_2. When I turn jet black and you show off your light, I live to let you shine, I live to let you shine. _

A month had passed since the power lines had been cut. A week, since the landlord had informed him gruffly that the rent was due. Three days, since the water had stopped flowing to the tap. Arthur was close to breaking point, if he wasn't already.

The door slammed deafeningly as Alfred strode out, no doubt to imbibe more alcohol to dull his senses and take the edge off the dread, leaving Arthur alone in the painfully small apartment, gripping white-knuckled to his pillow, feeling more alone in these few minutes than he had in his twenty-three years alive.

Alfred's last words before leaving in frustration rang around the room, like a silent accusation taunting him from the corners. _What do you want from me? _A question poised to hurt because Arthur had no answer.

An argument lasting over three hours that left Arthur close to tears of distress and Alfred bordering on an angry rampage, and it had boiled down to that. Arthur wanted nothing from Alfred, simply because there was nothing to be had, nothing that could be done.

There was nothing that any of them could do.

Already juggling a construction job during the day and a taxi driver stint during the night, Alfred couldn't fit anything else to earn more money because the day just didn't have enough hours. Arthur was doing any odd-jobs that he could pick up and every waking hour was also devoted to translating textbooks just to get that meagre income every week.

Neither of them could do anymore, not without turning insane or going suicidal. Not that they weren't far from it already.

But the bills continued to mount up, the warning letters they got just kept increasing and now, they just couldn't catch up. They scrimped and saved and fought for every penny, clinging on to every dollar like a lifeline. Arthur lost track of how many times he had made sacrifices just to afford their inadequate lifestyle, just to sleep in a warm bed under a roof with Alfred.

But it didn't matter, because no matter how hard they tried, the both of them would never ever be able to carve out a life like this.

And it wasn't _fair_.

And Arthur couldn't do _anything_ about it.

_3. But you can skyrocket away from me and never come back if you find another galaxy far from here with more room to fly. _

The past few months were just a blur of heated arguments, the hungry pang of Arthur's stomach and the aching in his heart that he could not get rid of. The nights that he had spent cold and unaccompanied in Alfred's bed only grew more frequent. Arthur could only do what he always did when that happened; he blinked out the tears and started to pray, pray for safety, pray for wealth, pray for longevity, pray for love.

The both of them were actually waiting fervently beside the phone; the only thing that had been religiously paying for the past few months, awaiting the call of one of Arthur's potential employers. This was the only chance that they had to hope to pay off their debts.

A woman a few days ago had called up to inform Arthur that he had been shortlisted to fill one of the local newspaper's empty journalist spaces that judged from his resume he had sent, but the editor was still torn between a few choices and whether it would be convenient for him to write another article on any theme of his choice.

The article had been painstakingly written by hand and personally delivered to the office. All their hope was riding on that one article, the paragraphs of carefully written and organised words that could change everything.

They had prayed. Oh, had they both prayed so fervently.

And the both of them were waiting for that eight pm call. But eight came and went without a single ring from the telephone. The hopes were dashed, tempers rose, accusations flew and still Arthur was at his wit's end.

The shouting match that had escalated later was expected. During the verbally violent spat, Alfred's eyes conveyed more than what his mouth did. Blue eyes filled with grief, weariness, angst, worry, disappointment and so much more. But not regret. Even when they had no assurance that they would be able to have a bed for the next week, Alfred wasn't sorry. He wasn't sorry for leaving everything behind to come away with Arthur to live in a foreign city, severing all ties with his former family.

But that thought didn't comfort Arthur.

Alfred should never have set his sights on Arthur and Arthur should never have entertained his advances. They were screwed from the start. Yet, neither would change a thing even if they had the chance. They chose this… despite everything, they chose _this_.

Arthur heaped threadbare blankets and quilts around himself to keep warm, still muttering prayers under his breath to a god that he wasn't even sure existed. He kept repeating the prayers for some sort of miraculous help until he fell asleep.

He couldn't lose this, not when this was the only good thing that he had ever known.

It was well into the night when Alfred returned and Arthur felt warm arms around his body and the bed dip to the left. But he pretended not to hear the muffled chokes as Alfred struggled to compose his own emotions.

_4. Just leave me your stardust to remember you by. _

Arthur had been studying for a diploma in English when his mother, the woman who single-handedly raised him died over exhaustion back home in Devon. She had worked so hard to send him overseas and when he had been accepted when he applied, she did everything in her power to keep him there. With every dip, the economy was taking its victims left, right and centre.

Months later, Arthur's funds ran out. He had no sponsors, no scholarships, no relatives and his university had turned him out. He didn't want to be repatriated back to England; there was nothing for him there anymore.

The Briton called in old favours, forged his documents with a little of their help and influence and secured his first job as a clerk, doing paperwork for a small firm.

Alfred had been studying a course for political science as his major. He had wanted to change the world, work in congress or be a paralegal. He wanted to be influential and help people. But then he met a grungy boy outside a closed bakery shop and that sealed it for him.

Thrown out with disgrace and disgust, he didn't have anywhere else to go but trust in his heart and believe that he had to do things for himself.

The American fell back on his charm and had actually clinched a job as a bartender, making cocktails every night, every week.

The two of them managed to rent a small apartment with their income with money left over and it was as close to paradise as either of them had ever known. There were no fancy restaurants or polished furniture but they were free to do whatever they wanted. No one left to care about either of them.

But then, the recession hit and the stock market crashed and then… not even their little piece of heaven was spared.

_5. If you'll be my boat, I'll be your sea. The depth of pure blue just to probe curiosity. _

"Go then! Go back to your adoring family that loves you so much that they changed their number after you left. I'm sure they would be thrilled to have their homosexual bastard child back!"

Alfred growled, lips curled, "I think I will, bitch."

Alfred's arms were clenched into fists, locked rigidly into his side, fingernails digging crescents into his palm and his shoulders tense. Arthur wanted to laugh, mock Alfred in his face for his bad decisions, failures and insecurities. Alfred was an inch away from going violent and Arthur wanted to tip him over that edge by rubbing it in, to make it hurt like how he currently did.

"You shouldn't have chosen a queer over your family," Arthur continued spitefully, voice lilting with a smirk, "I bet your old mother was bawling her eyes out, over her precious son that had been led wayward. But your father was the clever one wasn't he? He recognised you for the disappointment that you are; a failure like all the sinners that succumbed to temptation. He got you off his property immediately because he 'loves' you! He didn't want his gay son and his partner to ever contaminate his lawn again… not until _the Lord _leads you back to the high and narrow.

"Then you lost everything, your education, your diploma, your future! All of that was gone because you spontaneously decided to experiment…" voice soft, he continued, "Because of me. Your respectable upright Christian family was definitely better than ugly, old, useless… me. You chose wrong, Alfred F. Jones.

"You chose _wrong_."

Arthur had a wicked grin but it didn't reach his eyes, the malice that spouted forth from his mouth was deigned to hurt himself more than it hurt Alfred. It was true; he did ruin Alfred's life for him. Everything that Alfred had worked for was shattered the moment he met Arthur.

But Alfred, thank god, was still as dense as he'll always be. He had rage in his eyes and in a split second his arm was raised, positioned to hit, bruise or break _something_. The something was Arthur.

"You're going to hit me?" Arthur asked, laughing in disbelief, stomach twisting itself into knots of incredibility. Arthur had never seen Alfred strike anyone, not one person. His first time witnessing Alfred beat someone up and somehow he was the target. It was funny how life worked. Was this karma then? Did someone want to punish him?

_Do it_, Arthur thought as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks, still giggling uncontrollably.

Stung, Alfred dropped his hand, looking affronted and afraid, exactly like a wounded puppy. Turning on his heels, he bolted out the door leaving Arthur alone again.

There was a pattern forming, surely. If they even tried to talk, it would lead to screaming matches and ultimately, Alfred would run away like he always does, like he is doing.

But if the both of them didn't speak, it would get worse. The foreignness would only accumulate until Arthur realised that he didn't know who he was living with. But the feeling always rescinded once they argued, the pain of the insults hurled at each other serving to eradicate all other thought.

Arthur flung himself on the bed, the roar of the rain singing him to sleep.

_6. Ebbing and flowing and pushed by a breeze, I live to make you free. I live to make you free. _

It had been two days. Two entire days since Alfred left. There was no news about him, and Arthur had asked around. He didn't turn up to work and avoided his usual haunts; maybe this time, Arthur really did scare him away.

Arthur should have felt relieved, glad that Alfred had the courage to get out of this downward spiral while he could. He remembered that last look on Alfred's face before he absconded, it was one of terror. They were both broken men now.

But if Arthur was honest with himself, he didn't want Alfred gone. Even if it's the right thing to do, he still wanted the American back, back to his side where Arthur hoped he would stay. Arthur was selfish, he still wanted Alfred. The American was probably on his way back already, to seek forgiveness and claim repentance.

But Arthur clung to the small possibility that Alfred might still be walking around the city aimlessly. He just had to play the waiting game. This was wholly out of his hands.

He couldn't stop the grief in his heart, and so Arthur prayed. He prayed and he wished and he cursed and he begged until he couldn't keep his eyes open, falling instantly into a fitful rest.

That night, Arthur heard the door click open and tried to hide a sigh of relief, smiling into his pillow, head easing up. He thanked god that Alfred had returned and resisted the urge to engulf the younger man in a tight embrace and to mumble apologies into his neck.

Arthur felt Alfred lean over him and whisper.

"I would do it again, in a _heartbeat_. Don't you _ever_ forget that."

_7. but you can set sail to the west, if you want to and past the horizon where I can't even see you, far from here where the beaches are wide. _

"Don't go, I want to talk to you," Arthur said softly, hands grasping Alfred's arm.

Sighing, Alfred reasoned, "I have to go and work, I don't have time."

"I need you. Don't go."

"I have to, if—if I don't…"

"Nothing will happen. You and I both know that we can't pay back all these debts. We only have a week till Mr McDonnell ejects us from the apartment," Arthur said quietly. "Can't you just stay with me tonight? I miss you, Alfred.

Stay with me, tonight."

Torn, Alfred turned his head back before nodding reluctantly. He kicked off his shoes and crawled back up to the bed, smiling sadly as Arthur handed him a bottle of warm cheap wine, shifting a little as Arthur settled beside him, laying his head on Alfred's chest, trying to swallow the building anxiety.

"The weather's getting cold," Alfred commented, sipping the wine, tone strained and too casual to be anything but awkward.

"Mmhm. They said it wouldn't snow for a few days, at least."

The small talk was false and nothing they said remotely mattered, but it took Arthur's mind off things. It had been too long since he had last heard Alfred laugh. Even if it sounded like a pale imitation of his genuine chortle, it was still comforting and warm.

It was the small things that Arthur missed the most; Alfred's unrestrained babble, how he'll bite his lower lip if he's trying to withhold something amusing, the rise and fall of his chest and fingers tapping out a steady rhythm on Arthur's thigh when he's listening. All of these helped soothe the gnawing worry.

Closing his eyes, Arthur could almost pretend that the past few years never happened. Grasping at hazy recollections of their first nights together, their first kiss, the first time they met; hands in their coat pockets, cheeks red and eyes bright, looking for shelter from the torrent of rain.

They were so naïve and foolish, to think that a lifestyle depending on love alone would last. The sparks of their romance had faded long ago and all that remained was the familiarity of the other person. But tonight, Arthur felt his heart race as Alfred nuzzled his neck, flushing terribly with a forlorn grin.

The wine washed itself down Arthur's throat, burning him up from the inside.

_8. Just leave me your wake to remember you by._

Their last night in the apartment was spent with hushed whispers and choked laughter.

Mr McDonnell had arrived with a reminder to leave the keys on the counter when they left and to make sure they left nothing behind or their deposit would be forfeit. What little of their earthly possessions was packed up in two boxes and three duffel bags and everything they owned, stashed away insignificantly.

Neither of them had the heart or spirit to do anything more than chat idly with a six pack of beer beside them. Tomorrow, they would officially be homeless, nowhere to go, and nobody to turn to, they were on their own. Arthur wondered how they would last.

Alfred hadn't the slightest idea what living in the streets meant, having been sheltered from the miseries of society back home. Arthur had life a tad bit differently, he supposed that he could call in a few favours to keep them at least sheltered in the alleys of the city but it wasn't a solution for long…

In a few hours, Arthur was going to be reminded and Alfred was going to find out what genuinely being desperate felt like, it was unlike all the crap that was shown in movies, sleeping on park benches, squatting in deserted homes, breaking and entering; if they were lucky.

Having no illusions, Arthur knew that they weren't going to be together long after they had been evicted. A five year relationship or not, the stress and insecurity of running like thugs on the grimier part of town meant that nobody lasted long. You needed to have allies and everyone had a gun, hopefully, some social worker would notice your dirt-crusted skin and help you.

Most of the time though, society pretended that they didn't exist.

Arthur tried not to think too much about it. He was going to savour every last minute he had beside Alfred, shivering on the hard mattress and making lame puns, pretending nothing mattered. It was a good façade and it made things seem that bit brighter.

Pretending so hard, he had almost believed in it.

Their foreheads were pressed together and Alfred's breath, reeking of beer, fanned across Arthur's face as he stared into those eyes. Not a word was spoken but whole conversations were had. All that mattered was the two of them. Even if the world was hell-bent on tearing Alfred away and them apart, Arthur wouldn't give in, not without a fight.

But he would… eventually.

Arthur was sure he still had a bit of faith left, there weren't many things that could be worse than the situation they were in now, as long as Alfred still believed, it would happen.

As long as Alfred was here, Arthur didn't care. He did care once, but not anymore. He would rob a bank, massacre strangers and strangle children if that was what it meant to be together. The boundaries between right and wrong were blurred beyond comprehension. This love was bordered on obsession, an addiction, a disease of the mind, built because they only had each other.

It had once been so sweet a romance.

And was it really too much to ask? He just needed a home to live in, food and water, rest, and his beloved Alfred…

That man was generous with his smiles, free with his opinions and stood by his principles. Charming and quick-witted, he seduced the Englishman into his arms, whom was ensnared by his chirpy personality that seemed so out of place in this day and age.

That man was like a cool drink of water, a breath of fresh air. He was the change that Arthur had very much needed. Arthur could still see the sweep of golden hair and the flash of blue eyes at the back of his head and it tugged at his heart.

Reality had the ability to change so much and impact everything. All that Arthur saw in Alfred these days was a complete mirror image of his self. The resigned sighs and worried mutters that soon grew to flashing eyes and barely-concealed sneers. They all rang too familiar.

Alfred clutched at Arthur, his body warm and action invasive but Arthur didn't say a thing. The beer had lowered their inhibitions that had sprung up over the past few months, neither daring to get too close too fast. But now sitting on the cold carpeted floor, freezing both their arses off, they forgot about all that.

The warmth that had gripped Arthur's heart in a chokehold for the past few days returned, reminding him of everything he had fought for. It felt worse than a broken heart; the lamenting ache had nothing on this.

Arthur felt like his chest was constricted and he couldn't breathe, his heart fluttered but it was unable to escape the pang that arrived in large tidal waves. It felt like someone was squeezing his heart and making tiny nicks on it, waiting with a sadistic patience for it to give up.

But the pain meant that he could still feel, and Arthur welcomed it, relished it. He was reminded that he could still feel something other than the numb acceptance of his fate. It was a wound that was so deliciously good, so beautifully raw, so magnificently agonizing.

He never wanted to let go.

"_Come on," Alfred said with a grin, squeezing himself closer to the shocked Briton whose name, Arthur; he had learned mere minutes earlier. "We'll be warmer closer to each other; I don't plan on freezing out here without a proper coat."_

_Glaring in contempt, the shaking man finally conceded, Arthur leaned into Alfred, wet coat pulled tightly around him, teeth starting to chatter. Smiling at the progress amid the downpour that still didn't seem to let up, Alfred took Arthur's hands in his own and started to rub them, providing heat in the friction._

"_T—Thanks."_

_Alfred grinned some more, certain that he couldn't smile any wider what with the suddenly compliant gentleman more or less in his arms._

"_You're very pretty, you know that?" _

_At the feminine compliment, Arthur flushed, looking offended. He bit his bottom lip in contemplation whether to deck the arrogant boy looking down at him in amusement. The conceited fool would probably look better with a dark bruise on his jaw anyway._

"_You are, though. You look very pretty," Alfred teased, hands still rubbing his, tightening slightly. _

"_Don't mock me."_

"_And that's the problem," Alfred replied, voice suddenly soft with a forlorn and ridiculous smile still on his equally detestable face, "I'm not."_

... to remember you by.

End.

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**I have to admit, this is one of my longest finished fics. I'm trying to branch out of this pairing and Hetalia completely... I think I am getting to comfortable with it. I'm trying to get myself to write Dean with Castiel from Supernatural. Don't expect anything though, it's just a thought.**

**I write too much angst for someone who only reads fluff.  
**


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